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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533302">Sir John’s Barometer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/verybadhedgehog/pseuds/verybadhedgehog'>verybadhedgehog</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1920s, Gen, Humor, M/M, P. G. Wodehouse Pastiche</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 06:56:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,576</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/verybadhedgehog/pseuds/verybadhedgehog</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis Crozier and his nephew and secretary Ned Little are invited to a dinner party at the house of Sir John and Lady Jane Franklin. Francis must endure the after-dinner stories of James Fitzjames, before an unfortunate incident involving himself, Fitzjames and an antique barometer puts a cap on the evening. Between them, Francis and James must somehow fix the situation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Francis Crozier &amp; Commander James Fitzjames, Captain Francis Crozier &amp; Lt Edward Little, Captain Francis Crozier &amp; Thomas Jopson, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fall Fitzier Exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sir John’s Barometer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/gifts">attheborder</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the request “1920s AU, either A) as silly and Wodehousian as possible -OR- B) very Bright Young Things with James as a hard-partying dilettante”</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well-breakfasted on scrambled eggs and fried mushrooms, Francis Crozier left the dishes for his manservant Jopson and took the few short steps to his office.</p><p>His nephew and secretary, Edward Little, was already there, thumbing through papers. On his face, even at this early hour, was writ concern.</p><p>“Everything well, Ned?”</p><p>“Quite well, uncle Francis.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it,” Francis said, with enough warmth to encourage the lad.</p><p>“There <em>is</em> quite a lot of correspondence,” said Ned, somewhat mournfully.</p><p>“Ah, well, we shall get through it,” said Francis.</p><p>He had taken on his nephew as a secretary initially on the behest of the boy’s mother, his elder sister Clara. Ned had proven to be very efficient and capable, though he had a tendency to look as though he was anticipating some imminent calamity. This tendency of Ned’s was why Francis was not initially perturbed by his nephew’s expression — it was perfectly normal for Ned to appear worried. By lunchtime his aspect had usually advanced to “harried” and there were occasions on which abject dread made an appearance, and it was only then that Francis would call on Jopson to provide Ned with a sweet tea with a tot of brandy in it.</p><p>Ned continued with the correspondence, passing selected items on to Francis as he went.</p><p>A gentle tap on the half-open door announced Jopson.</p><p>“Second post, sir,” he said. He was, to back up the point, clutching two envelopes.</p><p>“Oh, dash it to hell, said Francis. “One of those looks rather like an invitation. Give it here.”</p><p>Jopson passed him the particular envelope, and popped the other into Ned’s in tray, for which he was rewarded with a light grimace.</p><p>Francis slit open the envelope and pulled out a card.</p><p>“Well, that’s as bad as I might have thought,” he declared.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“An invitation to dinner at Bedford Place. With Sir John and Lady Jane.” He sighed.</p><p>Sir John and Lady Jane Franklin, whose abode lay in the above Bedford Place, were old friends of the Crozier family and of almost everyone with whom Francis had dealings. They were also noted patrons of good causes and general pillars of society. As such, everything about them was tied to that formidable word, duty.</p><p>“Oh dear,” said Ned.</p><p>“I’m afraid to say you are implicated in this,” Francis said. He read out from the invitation card. “ ‘Sir John and Lady Jane request the pleasure of the company of Mr Francis Crozier and Mr Edward Little, on the evening of…’ You know, I would have expected you to be spared the ordeal.”</p><p>Jopson cleared his throat. “On the evening of…” he asked.</p><p>“The ninth. Three days hence.”</p><p>“I shall have your evening suit ready,” said Jopson. He made a move towards the door. “If you’ll not mind excusing me now, gentlemen. The scullery calls.”</p><p>“Oh of course, don’t let us keep you.”</p><p>Jopson slid out of the room and back to his household duties.</p><p>Francis passed the invitation to Ned, who passed his eye over it, and entered the date into his desk diary. “Oh it won’t be that bad,” he said. “If they’ve invited me too it’s probably a fair sized dinner, so you’ll have people to mix with.”</p><p>“You mean I won’t be stuck with Lady Jane disapproving of me, and Sophia not turning an eye in my direction?”</p><p>Sophia Cracroft was Sir John and Lady Jane’s niece. Francis had been courting her, and he had believed successfully, until six months previous when she had turned down his proposal. She had heavily hinted that her aunt and uncle, while they liked Francis very much as a family friend, did not give him the full seal of approval as a relative by marriage. It had, not to put too fine a point on it, rather stung.</p><p>“Well, yes. That was my drift. Who else do we think will be there? Hodgson? Fitzjames, most likely. Dundy too.”</p><p>“Of course Fitzjames will be there,” moaned Francis.</p><p>And now we must explain James Fitzjames. Fitzjames was one of the most popular chaps in the circles in which Francis and Ned moved. He was athletic, handsome, and friendly. He liked poetry and had a good go at it himself from time to time. His enthusiasm was not matched by talent: indeed the standard of his output was such that Virgil might be tempted to leave poor old Dante on his tod for an afternoon and get a half-day pass purely to beg Fitzjames to knock it off on account of the entire profession being brought into disrepute.</p><p>Insult to at least three of the divine Muses notwithstanding, he was a genuinely popular and pleasant gentleman.</p><p>And where James Fitzjames went, his best friend Henry T.D. “Dundy” Le Vesconte went too. They made a rather high-intensity pair, never knowingly leaving the light fantastic un-tripped.</p><p>Francis Crozier did not always find popular men popular. They were, to him, gall in the wine. It was a fault of his and he knew it. He knew perfectly well that James Fitzjames was entirely decent and pleasant, and that his popularity was not unearned. But it still, though Francis tried always to reach for his better self in these matters, rankled.</p><p>“I know what would be the thing to do,” said Ned. “We should pop round the old Terror &amp; Erebus about three-ish. See who’s there and who might have received an invitation.”</p><p>“Capital idea. A little intelligence mission.”</p><p>“That’s it exactly.”</p><p>“Of course, Jopson will be getting the goods through the servant intelligence network. One ‘phone call to Mr Hoar and he’ll have the full seating plan and menu and a shortlist of favoured colours for Sir John’s waistcoat. Should we wish to place bets.”</p><p>The Terror &amp; Erebus was the name of the club to which Francis and Ned both belonged. It had been formed from a merger between two London clubs, the Terror Club and the Erebus Fraternity. Both had had their numbers diminished in the ’14-’18, and as they already had reciprocal dining rights, the two clubs had sought to do the decent thing and make honest establishments of each other, pooling all resources in the erstwhile Terror premises.</p><p>Contrary to what one might expect from the respective nomenclature, the Terror Club had actually been the more subdued of the two.</p><p>Members of the Terror &amp; Erebus were still designated as either Terrors or Erebites, and there was some light playful rivalry between the two, culminating in an annual Terror v Erebus cricket match, and expressed in a more quotidian way throughout the year in games of cards, shove ha’penny and the like. George Hodgson, a Terror, liked to organise little quizzes, often themed around classical music. A few Terrors and even some Erebites would participate. The traditional house sport of the more carefree and loose-collared Erebus Fraternity had been pillow-fighting, and this was still practised. James Fitzjames was the reigning champion.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Francis and Ned arrived at the club and went straight to the main member’s lounge and smoking room.</p><p>“Francis!” came a shout. “How the devil are you?”</p><p>A bearded gentleman of Francis’ own age was calling to them across the lounge. His left leg, a well-crafted wooden affair, was propped up on the table in front of him. This was Thomas Blanky. He, like many, had the Kaiser to thank for his reduction in the leg department. He got about on the false leg with as much style and gusto as many men who were still working with their original allocation.</p><p>Francis pulled up a chair and sat with Blanky. “Not so bad, Tom.”</p><p>Ned flagged the steward for drinks before taking his own seat.</p><p>Blanky cast a beady eye over Francis. “Now, come on, Francis. I know you. I know something’s up. Let’s fish that fly out of the ointment, eh.”</p><p>Francis sighed. Blanky did indeed know him well.</p><p>“Ned and I have been invited by the Franklins to dinner at Bedford Place.”</p><p>“Ah, the dinner party. And you’re sore because Sophia will be there?”</p><p>“That’s it. And there’ll be a whole lot of fellows from this place. You’re going, aren’t you?”</p><p>“For my sins.”</p><p>“If I could just have my shame in peace without being in the spotlight for all to gawp at.”</p><p>Blanky laughed. “Francis! If anything, the bigger the company the more distraction from your woes.”</p><p>“You think I’m making a mountain of it, I can tell.”</p><p>“I do.” Blanky patted Francis on the arm. “Chin up, old bean, eh.”</p><p>“Fitzjames and Dundy will be there and you know what James is like with an audience.”</p><p>Everyone knew what James Fitzjames was like with an audience and a claret decanter before him. There were stories of high jinks at school. High jinks at college, including the time Fitzy had decided, on a whim, to walk from Cambridge to London, sleeping in barns and farmers’ fields on the way – and then, after drinking four pints of ale in a public house, decided to turn around and walk straight back. And of course the time when a German sniper caught Fitzjames a glancing blow, the bullet passing through the muscle of his arm without touching bone. He clearly felt himself to be blessed like some saint of yore, and once the main courses were cleared away he didn’t half like to talk about it.</p><p>“I only hope that Mrs Wall makes her mashed potatoes nice and thick,” said Francis. “I’ll be plugging my ears with them before the evening’s out.”</p><p>Blanky roared with laughter.</p><p>George Hodgson, a tall whey faced fellow who was one of two Terrors who were currently studying for the Anglican priesthood, entered the room and sauntered awkwardly across. “I say, are you fellows due at Sir John’s place next Thursday?”</p><p>“Indeed so.”</p><p>They were just starting to chit chat when James Fitzjames himself entered the room, with an enthusiastic “What ho, chaps!” which was met with a general chorus of “Fitzy! How the devil are you,” and similar greetings.</p><p>Blanky called out to him. “Fitzjames! Drag yourself over here would you.”</p><p>“Ah, Blanky! And Francis, George, Ned.”</p><p>They exchanged short and merry pleasantries.</p><p>“So, you fellows looking forward to the big do at Bedford Place?” asked Fitzjames.</p><p>“Oh, terribly,” said Hodgson.</p><p>“There’ll be ladies present,” said Blanky. “We might succeed in getting George married off before he takes orders.”</p><p>“A worthy cause,” said Fitzjames. He himself, though as popular and friendly with the ladies as he was with the gentlemen, had never expressed any serious interest in getting himself wed; but he always encouraged his friends’ endeavours in that direction.</p><p>“Now let’s not count chickens,” said Hodgson.</p><p>“Quite so,” said Ned. “We counted chickens before, with Ada Woodruff, and look where that ended up.”</p><p>“Don’t remind me,” groaned Hodgson at the memory of the girl who’d thrown him over for a piano-tuner when Hodgson had only just finished paying off said piano-tuner’s bill.</p><p>“Never mind Hodgson’s prospects,” interjected Francis. “When you say ‘the big do at Bedford Place’ just exactly how big are you meaning?”</p><p>“Ha ha, Francis. Your customary enthusiasm shows itself. It’s not a huge do. A moderate do. A friendly dinner with a good number of attendees. Barely registering as a shindig.”</p><p>“How many attendees, James. If you’d happen to know.”</p><p>“Oh, about twenty-five.”</p><p>“Twenty-five.” Francis looked glumly into his drink.</p><p>“Oh come on. Sir John and Lady Jane like to put a big dinner on. All you have to do is throw on the old collar and tailcoat and be there.”</p><p>“Fine. Fine. It’s just not as far up my alley as it is up yours.”</p><p>“That’s more like it,” James declared, before catching the eye of another friend across the room and hastening to chat with him.</p><p>With James gone, Francis sighed fretfully. “He doesn’t have to encourage me. Makes me feel like I’m being coaxed to eat my vegetables.”</p><p>“In a sense, quite a literal sense, you are,” said Blanky. “Think of Mrs Wall’s blanched parsnips.”</p><p>“Close your eyes and think of England, I should say,” said Ned, suppressing a shudder at the reminder of the pallid roots.</p><p>
  
</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Thursday came. Jopson had all the evening kit laid out ready. All Francis had to do was get into it. He did his cufflinks while Jopson fixed his collar.</p><p>“I thought the peacock blue waistcoat, sir.”</p><p>“A good choice, Jopson. I always trust your judgement in matters sartorial.”</p><p>Francis donned the waistcoat and buttoned it, then tied the matching bow tie proffered by Jopson.</p><p>Jopson helped him on with his tail coat and smoothed down his lapels, then finished the process by a giving Francis’ shoulders a quick brush-over with the clothes brush.</p><p>“As neat as you can get me, I should say,” declared Francis.</p><p>“Indeed so, sir. Now, shall we wait downstairs — Mr Little is due to be here shortly.”</p><p>Francis and Ned had arranged to share a taxi-cab together.</p><p>When Ned arrived, Jopson gave him a once over, adjusting his tie and neatening his hair with the emergency comb he kept in his top pocket. Ned, being a young man who recognised and appreciated expertise wherever it was to be found, was perfectly happy to submit to Jopson’s fine-tuning.</p><p>Jopson had just finished when another ring on the doorbell heralded the taxi-cab.</p><p>The cab ride was short and uneventful, and Francis and Ned soon arrived at the Franklin residence. Mr Hoar, the Franklins’ butler, greeted them at the door.</p><p>The large dining room was fully packed out with chairs and decorated with flowers. Lady Jane had done a particularly fine job.</p><p>Francis was seated next to Ann Ross, wife of his friend James Ross. This suited him, as he found Ann to be one of the most pleasant and level headed persons of his acquaintance. He would have far preferred to be at a smaller gathering with the Rosses, Tom Blanky, Ned, and perhaps John Irving, the Terror &amp; Erebus’s <em>other</em> trainee vicar. But he was here.</p><p>On the far side of the table sat Sophia, between James Ross and Graham Gore, who was generally held to be the handsomest of the Terror &amp; Erebus membership. He was already engaged to a charming tennis champion, which would seem to suggest that Sir John and Lady Jane were not particularly keen to hasten another courtship for Sophia.</p><p>George Hodgson had been placed with two eligible young ladies, though one of them was already making eyes at Dundy.</p><p>The food was good and nourishing, but really nothing to write home about. Mrs Wall the cook had a sturdy all-English approach to dining, but many of the men, if they were honest, found the fare at the Terror and Erebus members dining room to be more favourable. Mr Diggle, the club cook, had a gift for getting the most out of his ingredients — he had a way with tinned crab that was really quite impressive.</p><p>After dinner, Lady Jane and Sophia Cracroft gathered the rest of the ladies and led them into the drawing room for coffee.</p><p>Francis watched them with envy — not so much because they would be blessed with the company of his former sweetheart, but because they were being granted an automatic reprieve from having to hear the after dinner stories of Henry Le Vesconte and James Fitzjames.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Gore recounted the story of something that had happened to him a mere week or so ago. The gist of it was this: he had taken a cab to the theatre, realised belatedly that he had, after paying the cab driver, dropped his wallet in the back of the cab, had been treated by a friend to half time drinks and the loan of half a crown for the cab back, and then, by sheer hazard and good fortune, had recognised the self same cab and driver at the taxi rank outside the theatre. He had dashed over to the chap, ignoring the objections of those who felt this was a breach of cab rank etiquette, and been reunited with his wallet, contents fully intact. The cabbie got a tremendous tip for his troubles, and Gore got a story to tell.</p><p>It was a good story. Even Francis could concede this. There was some good natured quibbling from around the table as to how Gore could possibly have recognised the cabbie and how his eyesight could be so good, to which Gore simply shrugged and declared that he had quite a good memory for faces.</p><p>A footman replenished the wine decanter.</p><p>“Of course,” came James Fitzjames’ voice, cutting through the sound of gentle mirth and pouring wine, “that German sniper didn’t have such good eyesight as Gore.”</p><p>Here it was, the bloody German sniper story.</p><p>“The bullet came in <em>here</em>—“ Fitzjames wriggled out of his dinner jacket right on cue and indicated the spot on his shirt-sleeved arm —“and went out <em>here</em>. Very luckily for me it never touched bone.”</p><p>The assembled company made the right kind of impressed noises, though there surely wasn’t a man present who hadn’t heard the story before.</p><p>Gore, who was one of the men most familiar with the tale, was lapping it up on what must have been the sixth or seventh telling. Even Ned was nodding along. Francis could barely stand it.</p><p>“If the chap had been wearing his spectacles on the day, I might not have been here,” proclaimed Fitzjames.</p><p>“You certainly were very lucky, James,” said Hodgson.</p><p>“Why don’t you tell them about Birdshit Island, James,” said Francis, with not a little bitterness. “It’s a capital story. “</p><p>“Ah, yes, Dundy and I versus the most vicious seabirds South Devon had to offer. It’s a slight change of theme and tone, but you’re quite right, it is rather a funny tale. Dundy, you ought to set the scene.”</p><p>They were actually going to tell the story. As a joint effort. Francis had made a fatal misjudgement. He gazed into his dessert plate and contemplated oblivion.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>After Fitzjames and Le Vesconte wrapped up their tale, Sir John invited the company to look at the latest addition to his collection.</p><p>His suggestion was greeted with an affirmative murmur from around the table.</p><p>Sir John’s prized collection was of barometers and other diverse weather recording instruments. Francis was particularly keen to see them, being far more interested in matters meteorological than in hearing more after-dinner stories. And so the gentlemen trooped through into Sir John’s wood panelled “Weather Room”, where their proud host demonstrated to them a very fine antique Italian mercury barometer.</p><p>“Still reading a little bit low compared to my trusty Cooke &amp; Sons,” he said.</p><p>Gore and Dundy were taking an interest in a brass ship’s clock and barometer.“This is new since I’ve last been here,” said Gore.</p><p>“Yes, I rather think it must be. Delightful, isn’t it?”</p><p>Francis stood by the recording barograph in its glass case, and admired a small collection of pocket compasses on the table in front of him.</p><p>James, too, was perusing the collection with interest.</p><p>“I shall just go and check on the ladies, if you don’t mind,” said Sir John. “Do keep enjoying the instruments. Both Mr Crozier and Mr Fitzjames are quite knowledgeable, if you have questions in my absence. Gore, too.”</p><p>Francis and James glanced at each other.</p><p>Sir John was being perfectly honest and truthful — James Fitzjames had an interest in matters scientific to go with his interest in matters poetical and his interest in rather self-congratulatory tales. And Sir John was being magnanimous enough to recognise Francis’ own knowledge.</p><p>
  
</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Tap it again!”</p><p>“I know how to work a bloody barometer, Francis!”</p><p>They both reached out to tap the glass again. Somehow, fate conspired with the prod from Francis’ finger and the jab from James’s finger to jiggle the barometer in such a way that the whole thing jerked a quarter of an inch from its fixing and tumbled to the floor — with a predictable crash of broken glass.</p><p>“Well now look!”</p><p>“I can see perfectly well. Francis, you oaf.”</p><p>“Me? I didn’t lunge at it like an animal.”</p><p>“Nor did I.”</p><p>“You absolutely did.”</p><p>“Gentlemen, dear chaps, <em>please</em>,” said Gore, keen on calming the situation.</p><p>“At least it’s only the glass,” said Hodgson. “Which will sweep up.”</p><p>“I hope you’re right,” said Fitzjames. “But I doubt it. The coil will be all out of whack.”</p><p>“I expect so,” said Francis. “Damn it. It’ll have to be mended.”</p><p>“I shall take care of that, I think.”</p><p>“No, I think I shall be able to find a man who can repair it. Before Sir John even finds out.”</p><p>“Before he finds out? Ha! You think he won’t notice immediately?”</p><p>Francis sighed. “He will probably notice. But if we’re getting the thing repaired, we shouldn’t be in too much trouble.”</p><p>“No. D’you think Sophia will put in a word for you?”</p><p>“I do as a matter of fact, and I’m not entirely sure, James Fitzjames, that I appreciate your tone there.”</p><p>“No tone, Francis, no tone at all.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Francis decided to walk home, to clear his head a little.</p><p>His route took him very close to the Terror &amp; Erebus Club, and as he passed by the street on which the servants’ entrance to that establishment was located, he heard an unexpected noise.</p><p>It was unmistakably someone playing the ukulele. At this rather late hour, and in a back alley. And not, in Francis’ judgement, particularly skilfully.</p><p>Francis peered into the alley, but did not immediately see the musician. He felt that discretion was the better part of valour when it came to such matters. There might be a robber lurking, and the ukulele player might be trying to lure passers-by into the alley, like some sort of musical man-trap or indeed a land-bound sea-siren.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Morning arrived, and the great barometer mission began.</p><p>Ned Little was tasked with finding suitable merchants and repair men among the clock repair shops and antique dealers of London. He also sought to reassure his uncle about the events of the night before.</p><p>“It wasn’t very well fixed to the wall, I should say,” he said.</p><p>“It was not. But, ah, I should have been more careful,” said Francis, rubbing the top of his head and disarranging his hair.</p><p>“Probably so. And so should Fitzjames.”</p><p>“We share the blame, there. I can see it in the light of day.”</p><p>“I expect Fitzjames will be of the same opinion.”</p><p>“I hope so.”</p><p>“Though as soon as you discuss it between you, you’ll be at loggerheads again. Not to speak out of turn, of course, Uncle Francis. But you do catch my drift. There’s something about James Fitzjames that really does seem to get under your skin. Though I can’t see what or why.”</p><p>“Oh, I do, and you’re not speaking out of turn in the least. There <em>is</em> something about James Fitzjames that gets under my skin, and I’ll be damned if I can put my finger on what it is, either. It’s not that he’s popular. Don’t mind that in the least. Fully subscribe to the ideals of brotherly love. And it’s not simply that he’s full of himself. Because there are times when he isn’t.”</p><p>Ned continued perusing the advertisements in the newspaper. Every half a minute or so, he copied down suitable addresses and telephone numbers into a notebook. His tongue had crept into the corner of his mouth in concentration, so Francis let him at it for about five minutes.</p><p>Until he suddenly remembered the incident with the ukulele in the middle of the night.</p><p>“I say, Ned.”</p><p>Ned looked up.</p><p>“Here’s a peculiar thing. I was passing nearby the club last night — it was after hours, all closed up — and I heard someone playing what I am absolutely sure was a ukulele, outside the tradesmen's entrance.”</p><p>“I’ve heard similar, you know,” said Ned. “Was it a jazz tune, would you say, or more of a tropical style?”</p><p>“It was barely a tune, to my ears. But in the tropical style.”</p><p>“Ah, the mysterious tropical ukulele player of old Frederick Street. A question for the ages.”</p><p>“I think I could shed a little light on the mystery, sirs,” said Jopson who had at some point silently appeared in the room.</p><p>“Ah, Jopson! Yes, do go ahead.”</p><p>“I know who the ukulele chap is. One Mr Hickey. A rather disreputable individual, in my opinion. He’s formed an attachment to your club steward Billy Gibson, and he likes to serenade him on the ukulele while Billy is helping Mr Diggle with the washing up.”</p><p>“Ah, I see.”</p><p>“The man’s got this binding obsession with the Hawaiian islands, sir. Palm trees and coconuts and the like. Thus, the Hawaiian ukulele and the island style of play.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“Billy sometimes lets him in,” continued Jopson. “Which, if I might say, I do not approve of. I think Hickey affects a promise to whisk him away to the tropics one day.”</p><p>“Sounds pleasant, if rather far-fetched,” said Ned.</p><p>“If you were to ask me, I’d advise the club to keep an eye on the silver, while that fellow is hanging around,” said Jopson.</p><p>Ned furrowed his brow and nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll make a mention of it,” he promised. “If anything were to happen to Mr Bridgens’ rare books, it’d be quite a calamity.”</p><p>He tore out one page of the notebook and passed it to Francis. He had circled one address as a particularly hot lead. It was the shop of one Mr Weekes, specialist in clock and instrument repairs.</p><p>Clutching the note paper, Francis pulled on his coat and set his favourite old peaked cap on his head. Without giving Jopson a chance to adjust his appearance for polite society, he was out of the door and on his way.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Weekes was a Scot of pleasant countenance and straightforward manner.</p><p>“That, Mr Crozier,” he said, “is banjaxed. But not banjaxed beyond repair. The capsule is intact and I think I might be able to replace the coil spring with one from a more modern example.”</p><p>“That sounds promising. Will it work?”</p><p>“Let’s be optimistic. It will work, but the tricky part is going to be recalibrating the thing.”</p><p>He showed Francis where the new coil spring would go, and where it would have to be tightened or loosened to get the device reading true.</p><p>“How long would it take?”</p><p>“I would have it back to you next Wednesday. New spring and a new piece of glass in the case.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Francis returned home in a reasonably positive mood. The barometer could potentially be mended.</p><p>Jopson greeted him, took his coat, and visibly refrained from making a comment on the hat.</p><p>“Mr Le Vesconte has just telephoned, sir.”</p><p>“Oh really, and what did he have to say?”</p><p>“He and Mr Fitzjames are going to call on us at three, sir.”</p><p>“Are they? And did you tell them I’d be in?”</p><p>“If it happened that you weren’t at home, I would of course take a message. But I surmised, sir, that you might want to compare notes on the barometer situation.”</p><p>“Indeed I do. I’d like to see what Fitzjames has achieved so far. I do wonder why he has to bring Le Vesconte with him everywhere he goes.”</p><p>“He’s a pleasant enough gent.”</p><p>“Oh, he’s a perfectly jolly soul, I’m not denying it. I like his company. But are we prepared, Jopson? Do we have supplies?”</p><p>“We have plenty of biscuits, sir. The tin is well-stocked.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it,” said Francis with a laugh.</p><p>“I might visit the baker’s and see if they have any seed-cake. To be on the safe side.”</p><p>“Good idea. The man’s a gannet.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Biscuit?”</p><p>“Don’t mind if I do.”</p><p>Jopson kept a sharp eye on the plate of biscuits as Ned passed them to Dundy.</p><p>Fitzjames put down his cup of tea. “Right then,” he said. “What is our current state of play?”</p><p>“I visited Mr Weekes’ shop, and Mr Weekes assures me he can have a replacement coil fitted and a replacement glass, by next Wednesday.”</p><p>“That’s not bad. How will the function of the piece be affected?”</p><p>“Now that I can’t claim to know. It will probably need re-setting.”</p><p>“But Francis, we should be able to give Sir John a barometer that is in, as far as possible, close to the state that he ought to expect.”</p><p>“I can’t promise it will be as good as new. But Mr Weekes is a very good clock mender and he knows he way around the scientific instruments.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt his credentials.”</p><p>“So what are you getting at?”</p><p>“Let’s say that we run short of luck and it’s no longer functional. Not the best situation to be in.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Sir John wouldn’t be pleased,” said Dundy in a convenient pause between biscuits.</p><p>“I think,” said Fitzjames, “that we ought to run to both a repair <em>and</em> a replacement.”</p><p>Francis pondered this. It was a good plan, loath though he was to admit it directly.</p><p>“Not a direct replacement, I don’t think that’ll be possible.”</p><p>“Not. But something similar.”</p><p>“Well, shall I go to Weekes tomorrow morning and let him know to go ahead with the repair job?”</p><p>“I don’t see why not.”</p><p>“Time for me to make my excuses and leave,” declared Dundy. He was, Francis could see, and no doubt Jopson could see as well, tucking a slice of seed cake into his jacket pocket. “I have a small prior engagement.”</p><p>“Dundy’s meeting a girl for pre-dinner drinks,” James announced.</p><p>“Well done that man,” said Ned.</p><p>“Oh, well, ah, gosh, thank you chaps.”</p><p>“Anyone we know?”</p><p>“Matilda Knowles-Thornicroft,” muttered Dundy.</p><p>“She was at the dinner,” said James. “Thought she was a very nice girl.”</p><p>“The dark haired girl in the green dress?” asked Francis</p><p>“The same.”</p><p>“She did seem like a very nice girl,” said Ned. “Splendid! Well, you enjoy yourself, Dundy. And our regards to the lady”</p><p>“Our regards, of course,” echoed James and Francis</p><p>“I shall pass them on, said Dundy, and with that he was off.</p><p>“Hope she enjoys the seed-cake,” Francis said with a wry smile.</p><p>“All right,” said James. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand.”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>“We should divide our labour. If you’re making the repair, then I ought to source a replacement.”</p><p>“Ned has been on the lookout for one.”</p><p>“Good for him.”</p><p>Francis raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“I’m going to go to Simpson &amp; Hoyle in the morning and see what they have,” continued James.</p><p>“I called Simpson &amp; Hoyle,” said Ned.</p><p>“That’s not to say I shouldn’t pay them a visit.”</p><p>“Of course not.”</p><p>“Francis, are you trying to freeze me out here? Can you not let me take some part in this?”</p><p>“I’m not stopping you having any part. But we should decide together.”</p><p>“All right, let’s decide together.”</p><p>Ned raised a hand from his cake plate to get Francis and James’ attention. “When I spoke to Mr Hoyle from Simpson &amp; Hoyle, he indicated that they had two or three decorative and antique barometers and they would be very happy to show them off. To either of you. Or me. Or Jopson if we wanted to send him.”</p><p>“There we are, then,” said Francis. “I shall see Mr Weekes, James shall see Mr Hoyle, and if what he has isn’t suitable we shall work our way down your list, Ned.”</p><p>“That sounds like an ideal plan,” said James.</p><p>“Glad to see you gentlemen have formed an accord,” said Jopson. “Shall I fetch more tea? Or tidy away the things?”</p><p>“You can take the tea tray, Jopson,” said Francis.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Francis was up very bright and early to visit Mr Weekes’ shop and put down a deposit on the repair. Afterwards, he found himself walking through town.</p><p>He took a short cut through Golden Square. It was not busy at this time of day. A middle aged lady in a neat woolen coat was walking a pair of small pug dogs, and a young man was pacing around near the gate on the far side of the square, almost certainly waiting for some sort of assignation. And on a bench in the corner of the square sat one very forlorn figure, with its head in its hands.</p><p>The individual raised his head enough to wipe a tear from one cheek with the back of a hand.</p><p>Francis immediately recognised the poor sap as James Fitzjames. He was taken with an immediate urge to act — he could not possibly abandon the man to his agonies. He quickened his pace and soon stood alongside the bench.</p><p>He felt a sudden awkwardness, like a person who is about to be handed a baby and who has temporarily forgotten what end ought to be doing what. It was fleeting, however, and his courage returned.</p><p>“James. What on earth is up?”</p><p>“Francis,” James intoned bleakly, without looking up from his own lap.</p><p>James really did make the most pathetic figure, and yet nothing in Francis had the slightest inclination to gloat, or to feel superior. Instead, he sat down beside James and patted him gently on the forearm.</p><p>“Whatever it is, it’ll be all right.”</p><p>“I don’t know that it will,” said James. “It’s not like one of my usual stories.”</p><p>“Perhaps it’s all the better for that.”</p><p>“I certainly wouldn’t want to tell all the other fellows.”</p><p>“Let’s say you wouldn’t have to.”</p><p>James nodded.</p><p>“I was just in Simpson &amp; Hoyle,” he said, his voice catching on the words.</p><p>“To see about a barometer?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Francis couldn’t tell whether James was trying to pull himself together by returning to the business that two of them had at hand, or whether this was all part of what had put him into such a terrible funk.</p><p>James continued, his current halting diffidence a million miles from the confident, and some would go so far as to say brash, raconteur that all the Terrors and Erebites knew. “They showed me a couple of items. One in particular caught my eye. It was very nice, very attractive. Looked… quite the ticket.”</p><p>Francis made encouraging noises.</p><p>“I thought it would suit Sir John’s weather room very well. And it might help us get back into his good books. So… I enquired more about the thing. And that’s where I got myself into this pitiful state. God, you must think me such a fool.”</p><p>“From time to time I might. But you’re no more of a fool than I am.”</p><p>James took a deep and shaky breath. “Mr Hoyle informed me that this fine looking item was in fact a counterfeit. A fake. Priced accordingly of course. That’s when I lost all reason.”</p><p>“Oh? How so?”</p><p>“I fled the shop in a sort of mad panic. I can never show my face there again, Francis. It’s an absolute wash. I’m not sure if I can show my face <em>here</em> again, in front of you.”</p><p>“It’s all right,” Francis said, and patted James’ arm again.</p><p>“You see, Francis. <em>I’m</em> the barometer. I’m a fake.”</p><p>“Are you?”</p><p>“I’m not what everyone thinks I am. I was adopted, you know that much. But my story, it isn’t true. Fake maker’s marks added post facto, that sort of thing. Bogus provenance.” He sniffed.“Not really all that suitable for Sir John’s weather room after all.”</p><p>“You look like a real person to me.”</p><p>“My brother,” began James. “I lost my brother in the war. But he wasn’t my real brother, and everyone knows that part. I try to make up for his loss, for the Coninghams’ loss. But I can never be even what I was advertised as.”</p><p>“And what were you advertised as?”</p><p>“The story goes — hell, I’ve probably bored you with it before — that I was orphaned as a baby when my parents were killed in a railway accident in South America. Conveniently far away, you see.”</p><p>Francis nodded.</p><p>“But the names on my birth certificate are fake. The whole thing may be a forgery. My real father was someone my guardians knew, and my real mother was, I believe, a poor servant girl. Whatever happened to her, I don’t know. But I was the source of shame. That’s for certain.”</p><p>“There need be no shame on you now.”</p><p>“Easy for you to say.”</p><p>“I mean it.”</p><p>“That’s why I go in for all these adventures. To make stories that I can tell. Things that really happened, not tall tales. But something that people will notice me for. So nobody tips me upside down and notices that the marks and signatures and serial numbers are all wrong.”</p><p>Francis nodded again. “I think I understand you now.”</p><p>“And if I overdo it on occasion, that’s why. So I don’t feel like this poor unfortunate.”</p><p>Francis put an arm around James’ shoulders and squeezed. “There now. You aren’t a poor unfortunate. Your friends all genuinely like you, you know. Have faith in that.”</p><p>“I try to. I can still hear the sound of the barometer glass breaking, you know. To feel like everything was breaking apart under my hands, that was bad enough. Risking Sir John’s wrath when he’s been so good to me over the years.”</p><p>“We were both at fault there. And both at risk of disappointing Sir John.”</p><p>“Yes. And now that situation with the counterfeit barometer, it simply sent me mad for a moment. I say, you’re being awfully kind to me.”</p><p>“We were never quite seeing eye to eye before. But we are now, aren’t we? That’s the thing.”</p><p>“It is. Are we friends now, Francis? I think I’d like that very much.”</p><p>“Of course. And I’m very glad to be.”</p><p>Francis hugged James, and patted him warmly on the back. He was indeed genuinely glad to have reached this accord with James, and genuinely delighted that his smile was met with one from James.</p><p>“You know, James, I feel rather as though something has fallen into place. Like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle. It simply wasn’t right, the two of us not being proper pals.”</p><p>“I agree. Very much so.”</p><p>“Listen. Why don’t you come back to Banbridge Mansions with me. You can sit on my couch, which is far more comfortable than this bench. Jopson will furnish you with as much hot tea as you can drink. You can weep and wail to your heart’s content, and I shall rock you like a baby, if that’s what you would like, or you can even tell some of your stories, if that’s what you need to cheer you up.”</p><p>“Even some of my stories,” James said, and mustered a small laugh. “Francis, you are more than I deserve at this moment. Lead the way.”</p><p>Francis stood and extended his hand to James, who took it and let himself be helped to his feet.</p><p>“What about Ned?” asked James as they made their way out of the square.</p><p>“I’ll send Ned out. He can investigate the antique shops in person. He can even drop in to the club if he likes.”</p><p>“That would be — yes, that would be suitable, I think. Not that I don’t want to see Ned. I can always catch up with him later.”</p><p>“You and I have the opportunity to put our differences, as feeble and insignificant as they ever were, a long way behind us. And, well, I propose we seize it.”</p><p>“With both hands,” said James.</p>
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